The Dad Next Door

A Place to Call Home

Lawman Joe Sheehan is desperate to bond with the daughter he’s just discovered he has. But as a virtual stranger to twelve-year-old Amelia, the task seems impossible. Until Claire Conley moves to town. A social worker renovating a mansion into a foster home, Claire is the first person to get through to Amelia. Falling for the single dad was not on Claire’s to-do list. But with Joe and Amelia around, the house finally starts to feel like home. Claire’s ready to fight to convince Joe that together they’ve done more than fix a house…they’ve built a family.

A splash and a scream echoed off the main house.

He ran toward the pond as Claire surfaced, spluttering and laughing.

“Come on in.”

He gave her his best “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.

Laughing, she splashed him. “It’s just a little cold water.”

Joe took a deep breath and dived in, surfacing beside her.

“Are you worried about the meeting?” he asked when his breath had regulated.

“Yes.”

“Don’t give up. I don’t know if you’re that good with all kids, but if it wasn’t for you, Amelia and I would still be deadlocked in the silent treatment.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I needed the reminder of why it’s so important.”

“I have the feeling that you’re too stubborn to give up, anyway.”

“Oh, you do know how to sweet-talk me, Joe Sheehan.” She clambered out of the pond.

As he watched her, he realized he really liked her and he hadn’t felt that way about someone in a long time. The doors to his heart had been firmly closed. Seemed now there was just a crack in the door, enough to think…maybe.

Dear Reader,

Thanks so much for spending some time in Red Hill Springs, Alabama! The name of my fictional small town is inspired by real-life springs, where the waters have been flowing—and providing respite and relief for weary travelers—for hundreds of years.

Each of the Sheehan siblings is facing challenges, but through faith and with love, they will learn that sometimes broken dreams lead to family blessings. If you liked The Dad Next Door, please join me back in Red Hill Springs in October for the next book in the Family Blessings series.

I’d love to hear from you! I can be reached at my website, stephaniedees.com, or via email at steph@stephaniedees.com.

Stephanie Dees

Award-winning author STEPHANIE DEES lives in small-town Alabama with her pastor husband and two youngest children. A Southern girl through and through, she loves sweet tea, SEC football, corn on the cob and air-conditioning. For further information, please visit her website at stephaniedees.com.

The Dad Next Door

Stephanie Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Yet still I dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness; His mercies begin afresh each morning.

—Lamentations 3:21–23

For Melissa Endlich and Melissa Jeglinski

Thanks for keeping the faith.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Claire Conley stood on the overgrown lawn—the Alabama humidity wilting her hair, flies circling—as she confronted her legacy. The antebellum plantation house she’d inherited from her father looked nothing like the pictures the lawyer had sent her. Well, to be fair, there was a porch. And it did have huge columns. But that was where the similarity ended. What had looked like pristine white paint in the photo was gray and peeling. The yard was a tangle of weeds.

Tears stung in her eyes. She’d sold everything she owned and driven fourteen hours on coffee and adrenaline, dreams buzzing in her head. For this?

This worn-out, falling-down piece of...history?

She tried to push the long, shaking sob back to where it came from and failed. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping. Her biological father had never given her a thing. This was just more of the same.

She didn’t hear the truck coming up the drive until the door slammed behind her. She spun around.

He looked hard. Hard muscles, hard expression, head shaved military style, a shadow of stubble along his jaw. A hint of a dimple creased his face, but she couldn’t see his eyes.

Those were covered with silver aviator glasses.

She was suddenly, painfully, aware of the fact that she’d chosen to stay on the road instead of stopping to eat in Somewhere, Georgia, and had the evidence of it smeared on her comfiest—threadbare—jeans.

“I’m looking for Claire Conley.” He didn’t raise his voice, but still, it carried.

She nodded, not sure she could speak around the lump in her throat. “That would be me.”

“I’m Joe Sheehan.” The guy walked closer and dug into his jeans pocket, coming up with a key. “Your father’s attorney asked me to give this to you. He’s out of town for a few weeks.”

She narrowed her eyes, big-city self-preservation kicking in. “You local law enforcement?”

“I’m a cop, but not in Red Hill Springs. My mom owns the diner and the attorney asked me to meet you.”

“You sure he didn’t skip town because he was afraid to face me?”

“I’m sorry?” The hand holding the key dropped a bit and the look on his face changed from friendly to concerned. “Is everything okay?”

She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out. The internet told her cleansing breaths were supposed to be calming. Not so much. “Yes, it’s fine. I’m fine. I was just expecting the house to be in a little better condition. I’m opening... I have plans for this place.”

Joe looked skeptical. “Yeah? Bed-and-breakfast?”

“Kind of. You know, my pastor back in North Carolina tells me brokenness is a good thing.” She stared at the house, her voice trailing off. If that was true, she was golden. She’d been wrecked when her fiancé ditched her, but thought she could get past it. Her mother’s death from cancer had gutted her. And when her job with the county ended, she figured God was trying to tell her something.

Joe rubbed his shoulder. “I’m not sure about it being a good thing, but I think things that are broken can be fixed. At least I hope so.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe this old place could be renovated. She didn’t know if there was enough glue in the world to hold her life together, but she was going to give it a try. Her hard-won optimism resurfaced, at least briefly.

Claire mentally calculated what remained in her bank account, and...the moment of optimism was gone. “I don’t know if I can do this. I have six months of living expenses and what’s left of my mom’s life insurance to get this place running.”

Joe stepped closer. “Maybe you should go inside?”

She closed her eyes, realizing she’d been spilling her guts to a literal stranger. And why? Because she got the sense that he understood what rebuilding a home—a life—would cost her?

“I’ve heard it was a real showplace at one time.” Joe climbed the steps to the porch.

“That’s encouraging.” She followed him onto the wide porch and took a step forward. Her left foot went right through the wood plank.

Joe’s arm streaked out to wrap around her waist, keeping her from falling through. He was warm and solid and, just for a second, she wanted to lean into that warmth. Instead, a laugh bubbled to the surface. And then the rest of it billowed out.

He hauled her to her feet and she stared at her reflection in those silver sunglasses. Hair all wackadoo, no lipstick, a ketchup stain on her shirt. Another giggle rose to the surface and she shoved it back with a tiny little snort. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Joe slid the key in the lock. Despite the general disrepair, the key turned easily. He pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could go first.

It was like stepping into another time. The front hall had high ceilings, to combat the summer heat, and though the wallpaper was peeling, she could see that it would’ve been beautiful in its day. French doors to her right opened into a huge room, floor-to-ceiling windows sending long squares of golden light onto the wood floor. “What would this room have been used for?”

“I think it was the ballroom. The mayor and his wife had dinner parties here.” At her side, Joe pulled off the sunglasses, sliding them into his shirt pocket. There was an ugly, twisted scar streaking from the corner of his eye into his hairline.

She swallowed a gasp as he turned toward her, catching her staring. “Your eyes are blue,” she blurted.

“So are yours.”

“Right. Of course they are.”

Amusement deepened the dimple in his cheek and she glanced wildly around for a change of topic. “I can just see it, the room filled with tables covered in crisp white linen, sparkling crystal, heavy silver. What kind of food did they serve, do you think?”

Joe stepped farther into the room, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I’m not quite old enough to have come to the parties, but my mom told me about them. I think the governor was here a time or two.”

She nodded, turning slowly in the room, hearing the music that had once played. What would her life have been like if she’d grown up here with her biological family? Would she have had pretend parties with her friends in this grand room? Even thinking it made her feel guilty, like she was cheating on her real family, the family that raised her. But one day children would run and play, spin and twirl, in this room.

She turned back to him. “How in the world did they live in this place with it in this kind of shape?”

Joe’s brows drew together. “They didn’t. From what I understand, they moved to a house in town about ten years ago.”

Well, that explained a lot. And yet, there was something here, some sense of the past that was captivating. There were several rooms opening off to the right of the large hall, a parlor-type room, bedroom, bathroom. “Do you know where the kitchen is?”

“It runs along the back of the house. It used to be outside, but Mrs. Carter had one built inside the year she moved in.”

“Wait. The kitchen was still behind the house when the former mayor got married?”

“Yes, too hot in the South back in the day to have the kitchen inside.” Joe led the way to the back of the house. “Why do you call him the mayor and not your father?”

The dim corridor was cool, almost chilly, despite the heat outside, the humid air soft on her skin. “He was only my biological father. I didn’t know him. My twin sister and I were adopted by another family.”

She walked into the kitchen and stared hopelessly at the peeling linoleum and kitchen cabinets, which were painted a color that might have been fashionable about thirty years ago. All hint of laughter vanished. There was so much work to do if she was going to make this sagging place into any kind of home. She tried the deep breath thing again, and again it clogged in her throat.

Behind her, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“About my father?” She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t know him. And I had a great mom. One good parent is better than two bad ones.”

“You think so?” He locked eyes with her, the blue of his startlingly clear in the shadowy room.

“Of course.” She looked away. That she didn’t need a father was something she’d told herself all through her growing-up years. The real truth was somewhere in the middle. There was a hole where a father should’ve been, yeah, but nothing compared to the gaping cavern of not having parents at all.

The one visit she and her twin sister, Jordan, had with their birth father had left her with more questions than answers about who she was. Her birth mother had died shortly after giving birth. Their dad didn’t feel like he could raise infant twin girls on his own, so he’d put them both up for adoption.

She looked back at Joe. “Kids need a constant in their life. Just showing up is half the battle.”

“I hope you’re right.” Joe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the screen. “Listen, I have to go. My daughter, Amelia, is going to be waiting for me at the school. If I don’t get there on time...well, let’s just say I need to show up.”

She smiled. “Thank you for bringing the key by. I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted. Being a homeowner is new to me.”

“No problem,” he said again. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks.” Her eyes filled—the traitorous truth that she did need. So much. Too much. She needed connection and roots. To build something lasting, to somehow fill the void that her mom had left, and the one that had always been where her father should have been.

No one could help her with that, not even a handsome stranger with kind blue eyes. Okay, yeah, she’d noticed he was handsome, but she wasn’t interested. She’d done love and gotten her heart stomped on. And she definitely didn’t have time for casual. So, no, thanks.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He slid the aviators back over his eyes, then pulled a somewhat tattered business card out of his wallet. “It’s old, but the cell number’s still good. Feel free to call me if you think of anything.”

Claire glanced at the soft-edged card. “Full-service operation you’re running here.”

“Always aim to please.” He smiled for the first time, and despite her earlier lecture to herself, her heart gave a silly little skip. “Welcome to Red Hill Springs, Claire.”

His footsteps echoed in the empty house as he left. She followed and watched from the front door as he drove his old F-150 down the drive. When he turned onto the highway, she looked up.

What she could see of the sky through the overgrown bushes was crystal clear and a shade of blue she’d never seen in the city. Are you there, God? Because I really need You to show up.

She hesitated, then looked back at the sky. Like, now.

Maybe God didn’t like being given a timeline, she didn’t know, but maybe He would understand that she had one. This place had to be up and running and making ends meet within six months, or she was toast. And not the good kind of toast, either. The burned kind that made your house smell bad and no one would eat, even if you scraped off the top layer.

Turning back to the house, she sighed and reached for the light switch. Nothing happened.

“Oh, perfect.” She closed her eyes. “Just...perfect.”

* * *

“The café was buzzing today about the mayor’s daughter turning the plantation house into a bed-and-breakfast. She filed a permit for renovation last week before she ever set eyes on the place.” Joe’s mom tasted the lima beans and turned the heat off on the stove.

“Is that so?” Joe washed his hands at the sink in his mother’s kitchen.

Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. “Yes. I think it’s about as bad as the time Hester Jenkins set John’s Dale Earnhardt collection on fire on their front lawn.”

He shot his mom a glance. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were somewhere in the sand when that happened.”

Somewhere in the sand. His mother’s way of making her son’s military deployment bearable. Somewhere in the sand sounded like he could be on a tropical beach smoothing on sunscreen. Not in the middle of a war zone being shot at.

“John dropped the charges the next week, right after he broke her grandmother’s Lladro figurine, by accident, of course. It’s not a police matter anymore.”

“Glad to hear it.” His voice was wry and his mother made a face at him.

“Spoilsport. What’s the mayor’s daughter like? I’d like to get a look at her.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough. Everyone comes into the Hilltop eventually.” He sifted through his thoughts about the newest resident of Red Hill Springs. “She’s pretty. Dark brown hair, blue eyes. Five-three or four.”

“Once a cop always a cop. Sounds like you could pick her out in a lineup.”

He caught the sassy sarcasm and ignored it, instead choosing to appease his mother’s innate curiosity. “She seemed...I don’t know, lost? But also determined to make a go of that old place.” He tossed his keys into a tray on the counter, where his father had tossed his, along with his badge, for as long as Joe could remember. And then there was a pang, because Frank was gone. A heart attack had taken him from them with no warning a year ago next month.

Joe had been seven the first time he’d sworn he was leaving this town and never coming back. Eight when he’d stopped hoping his parents could be trusted. Twelve when he’d gotten caught trying to break into the police chief’s garage.

So yeah, he knew a little bit about being lost. He’d been an angry, defensive kid, striking out at everyone and trusting no one, but instead of arresting him, Frank had taken him inside to Bertie and Bertie had taken him under her wing. Slowly, he’d realized there were no more bruises, no more wondering when he would get to eat again, no more being scared every single minute of every day.

They’d rescued him from that life, even though they wouldn’t say so, and then they’d adopted him, giving him a real mom and dad, a brother, two sisters and a life he’d never expected. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the feeling of stepping into someone else’s life, wondering when they would realize he didn’t belong.

Bertie tossed some cherry tomatoes into the salad bowl. “Maybe she’s a little like Amelia, in a way, not having a daddy growing up? I think Amelia feels a little lost, too.”

And there it was, what his mother really wanted to get at. The very new relationship between him and his daughter. “Amelia has a daddy. Unfortunately, her mother—and believe me, I use that term loosely—was the only one who knew it.”

He heard a noise behind him, a small rush of air, and turned to see his daughter, Amelia. Just her back and a whirl of dark brown hair as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Joe stared at the closed door, the perfect metaphor for their relationship. “She wasn’t at school today when I got there. She walked home alone again.”

He felt his mother’s hand on his back. “She’ll come around, bud. She’s had a lot of change to deal with. All that anger hides how she really feels.”

“She hasn’t spoken a word to me in the two weeks that she’s been here.” He had a lot of ground to make up with Amelia, he knew that. He may not be ready to be a dad, but he was one, and he didn’t want to screw it up. But where in the world did you start when you’d missed twelve years?

“Joe, she was dropped off at the door with a note and a backpack full of clothes that didn’t fit her. Give her some time. You weren’t exactly a bundle of joy when you first came here.”

That was an accurate statement. He paused for a second. “Did you ever regret it, taking me on?”

She shut the refrigerator door and grabbed his face between her hands, like she used to do when he was younger. “Darling boy, I would never regret you. You are my son in every way that counts. It’s tricky now, but soon you’ll be finding your way. I promise.”

Fighting the knot in his throat, he said, “I would do anything to be able to go back and make it right for her.”

After high school, he’d gone straight into basic training. He’d been in Afghanistan when Lori Ann was having his baby. She could’ve gotten word to him, but she didn’t try. He had no idea Amelia even existed until she showed up on his mom’s doorstep and he’d seen his own blue eyes staring up at him.

“I know you would do anything for her, and one day Amelia will understand that, too.” Constantly moving, she stirred the okra and tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pan. “It’s normal, Joe, to have feelings and questions about your childhood. You’ve had a rough few months. It’s no wonder you have questions.”

Maybe that was what brought Claire to Red Hill Springs, the questions that she’d never had the answers to.

“How long did you stay out there at the plantation? Was she nice?”

Long used to his mother’s seeming ability to mind-read, Joe shrugged, but he remembered the look on Claire’s face as she’d stared at her inheritance. “Her name is Claire. She seemed nice enough. A little thrown by the condition of the place. It’s falling down.”

“Is she staying at a hotel in Spanish Fort?”

“No, I think she’s staying there at the plantation.”

“That place is a dump.” Bertie pointed the spoon his way. He watched it warily as he sneaked a taste of the limas from the edge of the pan closest to him. “Go pick her up for dinner and tell her to bring her stuff. She can sleep in Wynn’s room.”

“Mom, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He rubbed his shoulder, sending a sidelong glance at the firmly closed door to the living room. “We have a lot going on right now.”

“We do.” His mother nodded in agreement. “But no one should show up in town and be left without a hot meal or a clean place to lay her head.”

He didn’t want to get involved. He wasn’t like his mother. Trusting, having faith, it didn’t come easily to him. A wary sense of self-preservation had been ingrained in him as a kid. Then he fought a war on foreign soil. And then he became a cop.

But he picked up his keys and said, “You’re sure about this?”

“Do I look undecided?” His mom had blond hair cut into a straight bob at her chin. She always looked perfectly groomed, even standing over a hot stove, or after a long day on her feet in the café. What she didn’t look was indecisive.

Arguing with his mother was pointless. Once Bertie took on a project, the best thing to do was get out of the way. Even his father could never say no to her, which was how they ended up with two cats, four dogs and an extra kid.

Now she was wanting to take in the mayor’s daughter, and that was the last thing he needed.

Chapter Two

Claire leaned over the kitchen table, her pen moving almost as fast as her mind as she made an action list for the next day. A small mountain of chocolate wrappers smushed into little silver balls lined the table. The shock had faded and been replaced by a certainty that no matter how hard this was, she wasn’t going to back down. Of course, electricity would help.

The house was completely dark now except for the kitchen, which was lit by the several dozen candles she’d found in the closets around the house. A large room that ran the width of the house with a fireplace at one end, the kitchen had real potential as a gathering place.